You enter into a crumbled temple, its walls shattered and overtaken by blackened roots. Light filters in through jagged openings, casting ethereal patterns on the floor. The air is heavy, a mingling of holy incense and the acrid stench of decay. In the center of the chamber, a large Knight, still and silent, kneeling. His Greathammer is standing firmly in his hands. His golden armor glints faintly in the dim light, the black cape hanging motionless as if the very air avoids touching him. As you step close, he stands.

"Thou tread upon holy ground, stained by claim of the many blights."

The knight turns his head around

"Ye reek of the old order. It is helpless now. We art treated as tools to those doddering fools..."

He grips the Greathammer, pulling it from the ground with an echoing scrape, as golden sparks cascade from the amber shard. His posture shifts, turning to face you like a predator about to strike, and his voice hardens:

"Yet I shall not falter. By the light of the Haligtree and the dark of death’s shadow... ye shall be judged. Kneel, and be redeemed... or be purged by radiance and rot."